Читать книгу Soaring On Love - Joy Avery - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWhen Tressa had volunteered to whip something up, it didn’t take long for Roth to discover that they had two totally different definitions of the term. While he’d suggested preparing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—to which she’d laughed hysterically—Tressa had taken the reins and created a spread that looked as if it belonged in a magazine for culinary professionals.
How in the hell had she managed to turn generic grocery items—a block of cheddar cheese, a can of Southern biscuits, beef hot dogs, thin-sliced pepperoni, club crackers, kettle chips and French onion dip—into a work of edible art? She truly was amazing in the kitchen.
“Wow. This looks scrumptious,” he said, his growling stomach loudly approving. “A nurse and a chef. How in the heck did that happen?”
“I grew up watching my family help others. My father was a policeman, my mother a teacher. I had aunts, uncles and cousins who were firemen, clergy, counselors, doctors, lawyers, you name it. If there is a position out there geared toward helping people, one of my family members held it. Now, my love for cooking...I got that from my Poppa. My grandfather,” she clarified and beamed with pride.
Roth envied her, envied anyone who’d grown up surrounded by family. As a youngster, he’d dreamed of growing up, getting married and having a thousand kids. Somewhere along the way, that vision had faded. Tressa’s voice snatched him out of his thoughts.
“Do you mind if we eat in front of the fireplace?” she said.
“Sounds good to me.”
After arranging everything on the brown shag rug, Roth returned to the kitchen for two hard black cherry lemonades. It’d actually been Tressa who’d introduced him to the drink. He usually went for the harder stuff—whiskey—or the occasional beer. With her feminine wiles, she’d convinced him to try the sweet beverage when they’d both been at Alonso and Vivian’s place at the beach. He’d got hooked. On Tressa and the drink.
Roth recalled that beach trip. Watching Tressa wade through the water in an ocean-blue bikini, her skin glistening under the rays of the sun, had been torture in its most pleasurable form. On several occasions he’d wanted to ignore the fact that she was seeing someone and seduce the hell out of her, but he’d resisted. Looking back, he wished he had taken a risk. Maybe it would have spared her some heartache.
“Earth to Roth.”
Tressa’s voice pulled him back to reality. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“Yes. I asked if you could bring some napkins.”
Roth grabbed a stack of napkins off the counter and fanned them through the air. “Got it.” He passed her one of the bottles, then eased down next to her.
Tressa eyed him curiously. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated when she didn’t look convinced. “I drift sometimes. Growing up in foster care, I rarely got privacy. Sometimes escaping inside my own head was my only refuge.”
Damn. Why had he shared any of that? His past was typically something he kept to himself. Not because he was ashamed of it, but because the second people learned he’d been a foster kid, they showered him with unnecessary sympathy. He hated that with a passion.
“I was a foster mother to a six-year-old once. Jamison,” she said absently. “I’ll never do it again.”
“Wow. That bad, huh?”
Tressa grimaced. “God, I made that sound so harsh and insensitive. Let me clarify. I wouldn’t do it again because I grew so attached to him in the short time he was with me. Watching him leave was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. I cried like a baby for days.”
He’d picked up on Tressa’s nurturing side the first time he’d met her. It was one of the things he found so attractive about her. Nursing was the perfect profession for her. “Why didn’t you adopt him?” Roth asked out of curiosity. She seemed to have cared for the child.
Tressa stared into the crackling fire. “I wanted to.”
“Cyrus? Is he why you didn’t adopt Jamison?” Roth wasn’t sure why he’d come to that conclusion, but when Tressa faced him again he knew he’d been spot-on. He hated the man even more.
She slid her gaze back to the fire. “Pathetic, huh?”
Roth wanted to say something encouraging, but he couldn’t find the words. Growing up, every single day he’d wished for someone to care enough to want to adopt him, but it had never happened. But Tressa could have been the answer to the prayers Roth was sure Jamison said every night. She could have saved him from the hell of the foster system. But instead, she’d allowed that bastard Cyrus to convince her to send Jamison back into...hell.
Anger swirled inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was geared more toward Cyrus or Tressa. He took a long swig from his bottle.
“After two weeks without the sound of Jamison’s laughter, I realized the mistake I’d made. I contacted the agency, but I was too late. A family was interested in adopting him. I know I should have been ecstatic he’d found a permanent home. I was and I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “I had no right to be upset. I’d had my opportunity and blew it. I was being selfish. Which is typically not me, might I add.”
She’d redeemed herself.
“He would have been lucky to have you as his mother.”
A lazy smile curled her lips. “Thank you, Roth. That was kind of you to say.”
Tressa’s lips parted, then closed as if she’d reconsidered what she was about to say. The move drew his attention to her mouth. A knot formed in his stomach when he thought about how badly he wanted to lean over and kiss her. Not a smart move. Fight this, Lexington.
“I asked for a sign.”
Scrambling his thoughts of ravishing her mouth, he said, “Excuse me?”
“Tonight. Right before you joined me on the balcony. I asked God to send me a sign if I was making a mistake by marrying Cyrus.”
Was she suggesting he’d been her sign? Something warm and prideful blossomed in his chest.
“I guess your fiancé’s mistress crashing your engagement party was a fairly obvious one, huh?”
And just like that, it wilted. “You don’t seem too distraught about it.” Roth pressed his lids together. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was an insensitive and stupid thing to say. I’m sure you’re plenty upset.”
“I’m not, actually. I mean, I’m angry as hell and hurt, but not in a debilitating manner, if that makes sense.”
He hadn’t expected that response. “Why?”
A beat of silence played between them.
Tressa lowered her head as if to hide her face in shame. “Because deep down, I knew Cyrus wasn’t the right one for me. I just hung on in hopes of my feelings changing. I guess I kinda brought this whole mess on myself.”
Roth knew it was a statement that didn’t need a response, so he remained quiet. Before he’d even realized what he was doing, he draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. Tressa rested against him without any hesitations. Maybe he couldn’t have her in the way he truly wanted, but he could be a friend in her time of need.
* * *
Tressa tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. When she moved, it felt as if she were stuck to the smoldering leather. Kicking the quilt off that Roth had given her, she sat up and dragged the back of her hand across her forehead. It had to be three thousand degrees in here. And since heat rose, she was sure Roth was cooked to a crisp.
She sent a gaze to the loft. Though her view was obstructed, she imagined him sprawled out across the bed, his body sweat-dampened and glistening. A tingle in her belly slowly traveled to the space between her legs. As usual, her body was clearly on a mission to destroy her.
The popping embers brought her attention to the fireplace. She thought about their time in front of it earlier and how Roth had pulled her into his arms, and how safe she’d felt there. He’d wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it. So why hadn’t he? Because he was too much of a gentleman.
She’d wanted Roth to kiss her, do more than kiss her, and it irked the hell out of her that he hadn’t. But it’d probably been for the best. What kind of woman wanted a man to seduce her mere hours after finding out her fiancé has been sleeping with another woman? A woman out for revenge, she thought to herself.
No, that wasn’t it. She blew a heavy breath. Her desire, need, want for Roth, weren’t fueled by any of those things. Her longing for him was as authentic as it got. Which was why she had to fight it.
Tressa allowed her head to fall back against the cushions. Why did she always choose the wrong men? That included Roth. She wanted to believe he was a good guy, but the fact he could so easily push one woman aside—who probably believed she had a position in his life—for another, even if the other was her, suggested otherwise.
Pushing everyone else aside, she focused on herself. “Will I ever find love?” she whispered to the universe, a tear sliding out the corner of her eye. “True love.” That kind of ridiculous love that made you suddenly smile for no reason at all. She deserved that and wanted it. Wanted a husband who loved her beyond words. Wanted a family, a house full of kids—biological, adoptive or both. She wanted dogs, family dinners, vacations. “I want it all,” she mumbled.
“You got it.”
Tressa bolted forward to see Roth standing at the edge of the stairs in a navy blue tee that hugged his solid frame nicely and navy-blue-and-white pajama bottoms that sat just right on his lean frame. “What?”
“Insomnia?”
Tressa laughed at herself and wiped her eyes. “Um...sometimes. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Ah, no, you didn’t. I have trouble sleeping sometimes, too.”
Roth studied her. No doubt he wanted to address her tears, but she prayed he wouldn’t. Then, as if he’d read her mind, he turned his attention to the kitchen.
“Hot cocoa usually helps. Would you like some?” he said.
Although she teetered on the edge of spontaneously combusting, she said, “Sure.” She could use the conversation, as long as it wasn’t about her.
When she rose, her muscles protested the move.
Roth chuckled. “So, how’s the sofa? Hate me yet?”
“Ha ha.” Making her way across the room, she said, “Can I help?”
“No.” Roth pointed to the small dining table. “Sit, woman.”
Tressa saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
Lounging in a chair, Tressa gleefully watched Roth move about. There was something alluring about a man working in the kitchen, especially this man. Even if all he was doing was heating milk.
Roth chatted about something, but truthfully, she had no idea about what. Lost in her own thoughts, she chuckled when she recalled the animated expression on his face when she’d nixed his PB&J sandwich suggestion.
“Don’t laugh. It could happen,” Roth said.
Breaking free from her thoughts, she said, “Um...what exactly could happen?”
He rested a hand on his hip. “You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said, have you?”
Tressa bit at the corner of her lip and shook her head. “Sorry. I drift off sometimes.”
He barked a laugh. Obviously, at the fact she’d used his own words against him. “Prepare to be impressed.” He approached the table with two steaming mugs, set one in front of her, then lowered into a chair next to her at the square table with his in his hand.
Tressa took a sip and moaned. “Mmm. Real milk. And the cinnamon is a delicious touch. You did well.”
“See, I can do a little something-something in the kitchen, too.”
She imagined he could do a lot of something-something elsewhere, as well. After taking another sip, she said, “So, what is it that could happen?” Referring to his comment from earlier.
Roth’s eyes slid to his mug, but only briefly. “While you’re here with me, I plan to cater to your every need.”
This sobered Tressa rather quickly. Cater to her every need? The possibilities made her stomach flutter and her body bloom. God, she prayed her nipples didn’t bead underneath the oversize T-shirt Roth had given her to sleep in.
Scattering the illicit images hijacking her thoughts, she lowered her eyes to the steam rising from her cup. “Why—” She cleared her throat. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because you deserve it. You’ve been through a lot. I think you need to be reminded that you’re still a queen. And queens get served.” He tapped her foot playfully with his own.
Tressa dared her body to give one damn indication of how much his words had affected her. Finally, someone saw and acknowledged her worth. But why did it have to be the man she was determined to resist?
Roth continued, “Plus, something tells me you never really abandon nurse mode. That you’re constantly taking care of others and rarely focus on yourself, doing what makes Tressa happy.”
Doing what makes Tressa happy. That should become her new motto. She shrugged one shoulder. “I like helping people,” she said, in lieu of confessing that he was 100 percent correct. She rarely took time for herself.
“This weekend... It’s all about you, lady. Got it?”
Roth crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, rested his hands in his lap, tilted his head and eyed her as if asserting his authority. She propped her elbow on the table, rested her cheek against her palm and eyed him back. That seemed to be their thing—staring at one another for long, heated moments.
“Got it.” What else could she say?
“Good.”
Roth was a lethal combination: successful, sexy, charming. And he used it all well. Though a future with him was impractical, was a night of passionate, no-strings-attached sex out of the question?
What the hell was she saying? Roth struck her as the kind of man who molded into your system and stayed there, the kind of man who made women lose their minds. One night? Something told her one night with him would spiral her out of control. Her world was topsy-turvy enough. Still, everything about him intrigued her. Stay away.
Tressa circled her finger around the rim of the mug, ignoring his alluring aura. “I apologize if I caused any problems between you and your weekend companion.” A corner of Roth’s mouth lifted and her eyes fixed on his lips. Had anyone ever told him how damn sexy his mouth was? She was sure they had.
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
“I ruined your plans.”
“Shit happens.”
“Yes, it does.” And there was some other shit she would love to happen right then.
Shit like him leaning over and kissing her long and hard.
Shit like him gliding his large hands up her bare thighs and underneath her shirt.
Shit like him pushing her panties to the side and curving two long fingers inside her.
Yes, all of that.
“Drifting again?” Roth said in a low, sensual tone.
Straightening her back, she said, “Um...why do you ask?”
Roth’s eyes lowered to her chest and lingered there several seconds before rising. “Seemed as if you were...daydreaming.”
The prickle on her skin told her she would regret looking down, but she tilted her head forward anyway. Yep, regret. Blazing-hot, flesh-searing regret.
There was no hiding those high beams of her beaded nipples. If she could have utilized one superpower at that very moment, it would have been the ability to make herself invisible. She pushed to a stand, urging the floor to swallow her. “I’m really tired. I’m...” Instead of finishing her thought, she forced her feet forward and willed her body to deactivate like she was a Transformer.
“You haven’t finished your cocoa.”
“It worked.” She forced a yawn. “I don’t think I need any more.”
“Wait,” Roth said.
Tressa froze as if he’d pointed a gun at her. When he moved toward her, she felt a wave of nervous tension. His head pointed toward the stairs. “Take the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”
As tempting as the offer was, she shook her head, then snuggled back onto the sofa.
A beat later Roth climbed in behind her. “Anyone ever told you you’re too damn headstrong sometimes?”
Tressa stilled, her body going berserk from Roth’s closeness, his solidness, his heat, his scent. Processing it all scrambled her brain. Her nipples tightened even more, her breathing grew clumsy, the space between her legs throbbed and begged to be touched. Sparring with her out-of-control body, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Many call it being passionate. And what do you think you’re doing?”
“If you’re on the sofa, so am I. We suffer together.”
“Roth—”
He made a snoring sound, which made her laugh. “Okay, suit yourself. But I’m not moving. I’ve grown very fond of this sofa. It’s extremely comfortable. And for the record, no one falls asleep that fast.”
Another round of snores caused her to laugh again.
Who was being the headstrong one now? If he wanted to stay there, then so be it. But there was no way she was getting off this sofa. Not because she was trying to prove how stubborn she could be. It was because Roth snuggled behind her felt too damn good to simply walk away from.
